My uncle works at Nintendo and all I got was this stupid shirt
by backpack bootswiper map
Summary: Please look out for lizard bones.
1. Beware the lizard's bones

I was tired of running into wild encounters so I affixed the Cleanse Tag to my Pokémon. My Pokémon looked sad with it around its neck because the tag dragged on the ground in front of it. Sometimes it would trip over it. It was a large tag. It was a small Pokémon. I haven't decided which one it was yet.

"Durbal," it said. That was not its name because there is no known Pokémon named Durbal. But if there is one in Generation IX, I take credit for it.

"I know you're unhappy," I said. "But this is just how it has to be right now. Things will change."

The woman who sold me the Cleanse Tag was very strange. She had one good eye and one good tooth, but that wasn't strange. It isn't strange to have eye problems or missing teeth. What was strange was that she kept screaming: "Watch out for lizard bones."

I said, "What's a lizard? Is that some kind of Pokémon?"

"You'll see," she said, and she cackled.

I wasn't sure what that meant. I still am not sure to this day. Which is the same day. I had never heard of a lizard before, and I wasn't sure if its bones were dangerous, or what.

"Do you know what a lizard is?" I asked the Pokémon whose name wasn't Durbal.

"Ledbred," it said, sadly pulling at the tag around its neck as though it wanted it off. Ledbred wasn't its name either. I still don't know what Pokémon it is.

"Well, we need to get to a Pokémon Center as soon as possible, otherwise we might run the risk of wiping," I said to the Pokémon. "And that's why I need you to keep that Cleanse Tag on."

With that, it tore it off. It looked very happy that it had accomplished this. That's when the lizard bones swarmed us, and everything faded to white.


	2. I have a podcast about Meowth

"Why is there fire on the water, and will it listen to my podcast?"

"There's no time," the fireman shouted at me while desperately attempting to pour suppressant fluid on the fire that was on the water. "We have to put out this fire or this water will burn up."

It was the last water on the planet, and it had somehow caught on fire. Everything around us was dry. All the world's plant life had died. It would only be a matter of time until everything was dead, but that didn't matter, because I was trying to find out if people would listen to my podcast about my Meowth.

"My Meowth threw up today," I told the fireman. "My Meowth threw up blood."

"Would somebody get this person out of here?" said the fireman. It was his use of gender-neutral language that suddenly made me realize I had been referring to him as a fireman, and that made me feel very embarrassed. I had not asked the fireman if he used male-gendered terms to describe himself.

"Excuse me, sir? Or ma'am? Or person to whom I am talking? Would you prefer I referred to you as a male, or—"

"Get out of here or I'll have you arrested for interfering with a fire crime scene," said the fireperson who did not tell me if they defined themselves as male, and so now I will have to use gender-neutral language to describe them.

"Wait," said the fire. "What happened after your Meowth threw up—"

And then the fire went out. And so too did my only audience member die.

"Why did you do that," I asked the fireperson. "That was the only person who would listen to my podcast."

"And that's the last water on the planet. What's wrong with you?"

I was trying to think of a witty remark when I realized that something was horribly wrong with me, and this warranted further exploring as to figure out what. "I'll tell you," I said, as a maniacal laugh tore itself from my chest, "on the next episode of my podcast."


	3. Self care is very important

"You're here for your first pokemon?"

He scribbles something on his clipboard while I'm digging in my nose.  
Picking your nose in front of people is okay. Self care is more important than anything. I guess that's why I'm here.  
Also for my first pokemon.

"Yes," I say, flicking my booger at one of the more expensive looking machines, but in all earnestness, it's hard to gauge what that really is from outside the industry. "Also self care is more important than anything."

"Excuse me?"

"What part did you not understand? I can go over it with you delicately if need be."

He stares at me for a moment before returning to the safety of his clipboard. "No, thank you, it's fine. I'll manage." Coward. "What kind of pokemon are you interested in."

"What's the sexiest pokemon you have? Alternatively, I'd like to look at the most sexual, but please, don't confuse the two. This is two different attributes we're talking about here."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm assuming you're confused about the difference between sexy and sexual. That one gets people. I'll explain more delicately."

"No, I-"

"Please, I insist. Sexy is like physically hot, like sexy, like Lucario. That ass, tho."

"I'm gonna have to ask you to-"

"Please, Professor, let me finish. Honestly you should know this shit already, like what the fuck do they teach you in school. Anyway. Sexual is like in tune with their sexuality. Now, they aren't mutually exclusive, as degrees of sexual can be an important factor in sexiness. Confidence, like. But you can be timid and sexy too, so that doesn't make it a necessary factor. That's why I'd prefer to see both."

"Are you seriously coming in here telling me you're going to fuck your first pokemon and expecting to walk out of here with one?"

"Now, now, Professor. Answer me this - is fucking pokemon illegal if it's consensual?"

He sighs, visibly frustrated. This is one of my favorite parts of getting off, the frustration. "Not in Kanto."

"God bless these lest developed communities, am I right? Now, I would never fuck this pokemon without consent, but I may trade it for one who would, so it'll need to be somewhat valued."

"I have a Cyndaquil."

"I think you misunderstood me when I said hot. I meant physically attractive. Are you even trying, Professor?"

"I don't know," he snaps, "I'm not attracted to pokemon you sick fuck."

"You have no right to judge me, Professor. It's 2020, and in case you haven't noticed, love wins."

"You have no idea how much damage you're causing people with real problems by saying that."

"Yeah, I don't really care. Tell me, do you have a Garbodor?"

"You're telling me you want to stick your dick in a sentient pile of bagged trash."

"Yeah dude," I say, winking. "Self care is very important."


	4. My Pokémon Adventure

It was a beautiful spring day, the day I received my first Pokémon. The night before I couldn't sleep. I kept watching the Introduction to Pokémon Training video, rewinding the tape with the TV on so that the Charmander, Bulbasaur, and Squirtle kept going back into their Pokéballs. Then I'd watch it again, and the three standard starting Pokémon would emerge as I'd seen them do countless times. In my stupid youth, I had the window open so that the neighbors could probably hear as the looped fanfares played first forwards, then backwards at higher speeds.

"Kiddo, you're going to wake up the neighbors," came my mom's muffled voice from the other side of the door. "Aren't you supposed to be asleep by now?" Looking back on it, my mom was very patient with me.

"Real Pokémon trainers don't sleep, Mom!" I had been tossing a Pokéball up in the air—not a real one, a practice one—and catching it in the palm of my hand, feeling how heavy it was and calculating impossible trajectories for it in my head. "Besides, I haven't decided which Pokémon I want yet!"

"Real Pokémon trainers need their rest just like everybody else, dear. Why don't you sleep on it and decide tomorrow?"

"Because I have to decide now! My whole future rests on this decision, so I have to decide now!"

"Don't stay up too much later, sweetheart. I'm not going to be around to wake you up on time forever, you know?"

"I know, Mom!" But I didn't. I didn't really know. I just kept tossing the Pokéball up in the air and rewinding the tape. "Charmander seems like a really solid choice," I said to the TV or to myself. "But have I really considered Squirtle?"

I was up all night, watching that stupid tape. When I awoke, the sun already streamed through the window, and it was a beautiful spring day.

"Oh no! I'm late!" There was no time to even put on clothes. All the other kids in the village had picked their Pokémon except me, which meant that—

"You're out of luck, girl," said the professor. I think he was named after a tree. "All the standard starting Pokémon have been taken."

I had fallen to my knees in front of him, dirtying my pajamas on his lab floor. "Please, Prof. Tree." I had to stop myself from bursting into tears. "I was up all night trying to decide which Pokémon I wanted and I overslept! There has to be one left!"

"Sorry, but they're gone," said the professor in a tone that did not sound like he was sorry at all. "You will have to come back next year—maybe when you're a little more responsible."

"But I am responsible! I am ready! I have to be a Pokémon trainer; I just _have_ to!" I was going to do whatever it took to change his mind. "What can I do to prove that?"

He sighed and tutted and rolled his eyes. "Fine, I think I have one more Pokémon."

I was overjoyed. No, not overjoyed. Following him through the lab, I felt a strange sense of relief. Something I had been waiting for ever since I could remember and was suddenly about to be taken away from me had just been restored.

The professor harrumphed. "Here," he said, producing a Pokéball. "I think this Pokémon will be quite suitable for you." He threw the ball. There was a flash of red light. Then, on the floor, was a perfectly delicious plate of roast chicken.

I couldn't think of anything to say, so I just stood there in silence for a while staring at the perfectly delicious plate of roast chicken. Finally, the words came to me: "That isn't a Pokémon."

"Well, it was in a Pokéball, wasn't it?" said the professor. "See how it is being perfectly delicious? I think it likes you."

"How am I supposed to go on a Pokémon adventure with a roast chicken for a Pokémon?" I asked. "I don't even know any of its attacks."

"You don't just know how to be a Pokémon trainer the moment you get a Pokémon." The professor's voice dripped with condescension. "It takes time. You have to bond with it. Why don't you pet it?"

I didn't move. The professor glared at me. "Pet it _now_," he demanded. Instantly my palm found its greasy side. The perfectly delicious plate of roast chicken did not respond to my ministrations, because the perfectly delicious plate of roast chicken was not a Pokémon.

I had become uncomfortable, my palm sticky with grease and my knees dirty from when I had pled with the professor. He stared at me down his nose from above and I knew that he had done this on purpose. "Well?" said the professor brusquely. "You do know how to recall a Pokémon to its Pokéball, correct?"

"Y-yes."

"I should like to see you do it."

The Pokéball slipped out of my hand because of the roast chicken's grease, landed haphazardly on the perfectly delicious plate of roast chicken, and the whole thing disappeared. Presumably back into the Pokéball, which now sat still on the floor, covered in a light film of oil.

"Very well, I deem that acceptable." The professor put his hands behind his back and wiggled his mustache. "Now you may go off on your Pokémon adventure™, etc."

"Professor," I thought to say again. "This isn't a Pokémon. I can't go on a Pokémon adventure™ of my very own without a Pokémon."

"You will do with what you are given," said the professor pointedly. "Such is the test of a real Pokémon trainer."

I didn't look up from my feet when I got home. A crowd was beginning to gather outside, likely because my mom had told the town I was leaving that day with my first Pokémon. "Mom?"

There was no response. I put down my bag, containing my perfectly delicious plate of roast chicken as it slumbered in its Pokéball. I walked to the kitchen, trying to think of how to explain what had happened today to my mom, and how I could possibly make the whole village forget about me until next year. I tried again: "Mom?"

"In here, kiddo," came three voices simultaneously.

My eyes narrowed. I peered into the kitchen where the voices had come from only to see my mom had split into three aspects. She sat at the table, flanked by a younger version of herself and an older version of herself. Maiden, mother, and crone. Also they were all completely naked.

"Wh-what—" I swallowed, hard. "What are you doing, Mom? You have to put on some clothes right now!"

"We have no need for clothes," said my mothers all at once. "Where we are going, there will be no need for clothes."

"What are you talking about?"

"We are going on our own Pokémon adventure™," said my mothers. "As you do not need us anymore, so too do we no longer need you."

"But—" There was no time. My mothers got up from the table then and walked, single file, to the living room. All three of them. All three aspects of my mother, then, wandered out into the front yard to be greeted by the silent crowd. They went, holding hands and singing. "I want to be, the very best," they sang in perfect unison. "That no one ever was."

No one in the crowd averted their eyes, nor shrieked, nor groaned in disgust. They merely looked on, stone-faced, and then began to clap quietly and entirely off rhythm to my mothers' song.

"To catch them is my real test," sang my mothers to the crowd. "To train them is my cause."

Their feet no longer touched the ground. They were hovering in place. Nothing could hold them here, not even gravity. Quickly they began to ascend, although they still held hands, so that the undulations of their bodies in the turbulent air made a danse macabre. "I will travel, across the land. Searching far—" and then they were no longer audible, their voices lost to distance.

"Look! Look!" An elderly man I did not recognize from the people in town had produced a telescope and was beckoning me to peer through it. "Look!"

I did as I was told. In the lens I could see my mothers, still holding hands, entering the upper atmosphere and never looking back.

Later, when the crowds had dispersed and the sun had begun to set, I sat alone in my kitchen. I had not turned on the light. My hand was still greasy where I had touched my new Pokémon from before, but also had gained a smattering of dirt.

In all this commotion, I had forgotten my new Pokémon! I threw the Pokéball on the table to let it out but I threw it wrong and the whole perfectly delicious plate of roast chicken came out sideways. It smashed into the table and was practically destroyed in the impact, the chicken's bones sticking out through the now too-tender meat.

I don't remember how long I stared at it, but it was darker than it was before when I looked out the window afterwards. So I drew the curtains. Then I went into the living room and drew the curtains there as well. I wouldn't have anything more to do with the outside world. I laid down on the living room floor and felt the carpet dig into my skin, and then I shut my eyes.


	5. Mystery of Durbal

On some days Durbal is half full. On some days, Durbal is half empty.

Today, Durbal is soon to be a little over half full, or perhaps a little under half empty, depending on how you cut it. Our villagers have captured another young virgin eunuch from the nearby forest, which was now tied down with straps made from Tauros leather, its mouth attached to a gag crafted from Trubbish hide.

"Huh-mhuh-huh!" the eunuch screams, as the leader of our procession drags it closer towards the altar. A soft chanting sound, led by yours truly, christens the air with some holy vibes.

"O great and terrible Durbal!" the whole village chants in unison, under my lead. "Half-full Durbal! Half-empty Durbal! Please accept our most humble offering!"

"Muh-gugh-gugh," the eunuch continues. Increasingly feeble sounds drowned out in our ritualistic chanting.

"Eunuch! Eunuch! Sacrificial eunuch!" our chant continues.

"Pwhah!" spits the eunuch, the mouth gag tearing off of its purple lips.

"I think this one is a shiny!" one of the villagers points out excitedly. Indeed, instead of the habitual hardened spines that we find on eunuchs, this one had entirely hairless, spineless skin.

The procession stops, in front of the altar built up from Raticate bones and Darumaka skulls. Up we drag the eunuch from the ground, pushing it towards the hole at the center of the ground right beneath the alter.

"I'm Misty!" the visibly distressed eunuch continues to scream. "Pokémon trainer! Cerulean Gym leader! Let me…"

That is when Durbal swoops down from the sky, and gobbles up the still-flailing eunuch in a most unceremonious way. Now mostly full, or mostly not empty, it floats back to the heaven, crooning contentedly something between the sound made by a Swanna and a Honchkrow. Our villagers will now find peace once more, until the sun rises.


	6. Meekachu Evolved

"You're not the one from the center!" I say, shaking the little fucker. "Who sent you?!"

The Pikachu is floppy and he doesn't respond. It's a red Pikachu.

When the centipede emerges from the exposed eye socket and down its cheek passed the dangling deflated eyeball it looks up at me with the curiosity of a newborn, or a cat with dementia. Much like the red Pikachu did when it was yellow.  
"This Pikachu is cold," the centipede says.

"The sky did that," I tell the centipede. "The sky made the Pikachu cold."

"Curse the sky," the centipede commands.

"Curse you," I say quietly to the sky. "Curse you down to the fluffy whites."

Lightning strikes the campsite and a fire begins roaring and screaming. Much like the child when we made his Pikachu red instead of yellow.  
Saliva splashes his swollen face. Stifling. Quiet.

There are several things in his pack.  
Pellets. Pokeballs. Rare candy. A picture of a middle aged women I will masturbate to later.

"We all have needs, don't we?" I ask the centipede.

"Pikachu need hot," the centipede replies. "Fire hot."

"Fire hot," I say. "Fire make Pikachu hot."

"Blacken Pikachu," we say in unison. "Make Pikachu black."

I sharpen a stick and jam it into the floppy thing's anus until it is no longer floppy. It cooks like meat cooks like when you jam it into a fire.  
The licking flames bouncing reflections off my cornea. Screams bounce off the quiet night forest. He's trying to crawl away, but he's not going very fast and he won't get very far. Not far at all, given the state of his legbones.  
The centipede feeds its hunger and I feed my lust.

"Centipedes don't exist in this reality," it tells me as it disappears into the newly blackened Pikachu. "There's probably a centipede type pokemon, but if there isn't, and one appears in a future generation, I take all the credit for it. That was my idea."

His words echo and fade into the Blackened Pikachu's charred cavities.  
"Oh boy," I say, but it falls on deaf ears. Ejaculate sizzling on the fire. The screams getting louder. "It's gonna be a long night."


	7. Courthouse Bop

"In the case of the state vs. Brock "Rock Hard" Turner, Judge Pockermin is residing. All rise."

Everybody in the court stands up.  
The judge shuffles in with authority in the name of justice.  
Judge Pockermin, while his hair is curlier than singed taint hair and whiter than all of the united states presidents combined, his beard, or more specifically, goatee, is a dark brown oval encircling, edging his lips like a sexually frustrated chump in No Semen September. To one side of this bold oblong shape was a line running down one side of his chin - a statement that reads to the rest of the world as a P for Pockermin. Judge. Pockermin. Residing.

"Please be seated," he commands under the illusion of respect for his lessers before pounding his gavel on his pounder, creating a noise that goes that goes straight through the ears and into the ass of everyone else in the courtroom. They sit when he tells them to, and they like it, because he says they like it. "Court is now in session."

It's in session because he says it's in session, and they like it, because he says they like it.

"Mr. Brock 'Rock Hard' Turner. You are being charged with sexual misconduct with an underage pokemon on television in front of an audience of minors and miners, as the television show Pokemon is broadcast in family homes and mines across the globe. How do you plead?"

"Not 'Rock Hard', your honor. Not 'Rock Hard' at all."

"If you are not 'Rock Hard' about the crimes with which you have been charged, why is your middle name 'Rock Hard'?"?

"I don't know," Brock says, representing himself, "That's just what my parents decided to name me. They weren't as cool as your parents, who named you Judge Pockermin. Your honor."

Judge Pockermin liked that. "And the defense?"

"We believe," the Fanfiction dot net guidelines say, getting up, "that the defendant is very obviously 'Rock Hard'. We have very hard evidence from the Tv show, witnesses as minors, and miners as witnesses. We would like to present to the court, exhibit A. The video."

The video gives us some 'Rock Hard' evidence of Brock not only abusing his own Vulpix pokemon, but using his deceased friend Ash's pokemon to defile it. Particularly a bulbasaur.

"Bulba! Bulba!" the Bulbasaur says, while committing unspeakable acts. "Bulba SAUUUURRRR!"

"The prosecution rests," the Fanfiction dot net guidelines says, turning the Tv off. "I think we've made our case."

The jury shuffles off stage and three minutes pass before the jury shuffles back on.

"Our verdict is guilty," says the jury in unison. "We find the defendant 'Rock Hard'.".

"Defendant - Brock 'Rock Hard' Turner - what do you have to say for yourself."

"I make a lot of money from the Pokemon show," he says, scratching the back of his head with an anime sweat. "Like eleventy billion dollars a year."

"That's pretty good," he says, hammering his gavel right into everyone's buttholes through their ears. "I sentence you to a fine of six billionty millionty dollars and require that you keep the bulk of your money in a bank account where the economy can't touch it while you live like a filthy hog in moneyslop forever. Court is adjourned."

And just like that, the honorable Judge Pockermin pounds everyone in the courtroom's asshole through their ears, dusts his nipples off and takes leave.

Brock "Rock Hard" Turner roams to sexually assault another day.


	8. Who's That Pokémon?

It's Geodude!

We'd put together a potluck for disadvantaged Pokémon in Cerulean City and I'd made a casserole. Well, it's more like enchiladas, but I didn't exactly use many traditional ingredients you would find in enchiladas and I'm trying to be sensitive to cultural appropriation, so I will not call it enchiladas. I'd made a casserole, and off the street comes this Geodude. The Geodude had been coated in a kind of patina, which I thought was odd because I didn't think Geodudes had much copper in them—if any at all—but I could tell that it was weathered and had likely been on the streets for a long time. Poor Geodude.

Anyway, the Geodude made a beeline right for my enchiladas I mean casserole and began tearing into it with its hands, shoveling handful after handful into its mouth. Bits of gummy asphalt had mixed in with my casserole.

"Oh no, oh no, Geodude!" I cried out loud disparagingly.

"Stop…"

The patina-coated Geodude did not heed my warning, continuing to stuff fistfuls of my casserole I mean enchiladas into its rock-inlaid oral cavity, propagating who knows what types of grime into the dish. Pokérus is saliva-borne, and I'm not too sure whether this specific Geodude had gotten its Pokérus vaccines, being a disadvantaged wild Geodude who might not even have the proper papers attesting to its Pokéstatus.

"Geodude, please," I tried again, launching myself towards the starved, patina-clad creature and placing my tentacle on its rock-hard geo-arm. "See…"

All of a sudden, Geodude used defense curl and fell face down into the enchicasserole, beginning to belch and shiver uncontrollably. Jets of undigested casserenchilada mixed with digestive juices spraying back out onto the dish, along with black trails of blood.

There was broccoli in the casserole, and as we all know, broccoli is a grass-type. Geodude therefore has a quadruple weakness to broccoli. It was super effective! Geodude has since passed away, because there were not enough intensive care unit beds left at the Poké-Center, thanks to all of you allowing COVID-19 to spread by failing to respect measures of social distancing. You monsters!


	9. Gary the Clefairy

My dad used to call me Gary, because that is my name.  
But that's not all he'd call me.  
He'd call me Gary the Clefairy. Gary the Clefairy. Gary the Clefairy.

He'd always say it three times like that and it made it worse.  
It made me gayer somehow. And that hurt the most.

But here we are at his funeral, and the boner I have won't quit.

This boner, it pokes out through the illusion of my suit pants like a contrarian in an ocean of sycophants.  
But that's just how it be, isn't it?  
God is taking my father, as he took my mother, and my grandfather has his hands firmly clasped on my shoulders as my uncle Doofus gives the eulogy.

"I'm at a point in my old age where it's barely sexual," he whispers into my ear as he massages my shoulders. "I'm either horny or I'm not, and when I'm not, it's nothing. Nothing is there. Not a twitch. Not a tumble. It's excessive. Or not excessive. However you wanna slice it."

"I know what you mean," I whisper back, the words hanging on my breath like morning dew hangs to the blades of grass, graciously wettening the moist feet of our future's tomorrow. "Sometimes, when I masturbate, I give up halfway through. Like, that's enough, you know? I'm done."

"That's not how I operate at aaaalllll," he says, his fingers digging deeper into my muscle tissue. "Once I start, I can't stop. I've told plenty of lovers, look, I know you're finished, but I'm not. I'm gonna masturbate and you're gonna watch me do it because goddamnit, I start what I finish. You're what I started, and you're gonna feel me finish all over those nips."

"Does that usually work?"

"Not really," he sighs, moving his hands sensually down to my hips and ass. "I'm not exactly Babe Ruth. My strikeout record is out of this world. But I do finish, and though it may not be on some hot nips, someone sleeps in it. Mostly me."

"You remind me of my uncle."

"That's sexual," he says, grinding his crotch against my ass, my tight ass, my ass that's tighter than a jockstrap in football season. "Do I remind you of your uncle?"

"No," I say, grabbing his right wrist, pulling his middle finger out of my pants and away from my taint with the sweat still on it. I suck that finger, and I suck my own taint sweat from my finger like it was mother's milk to a newborn babe. "You remind me of my grandfather. Or should I say... granDaddy?"

"That's sexual," he says, literally sweeping me off my feet and carrying me over to my father's descending coffin. He lays me upon it, cooing in my ear as he unbuttons his pants along with my own.

I can see his cock. It harbors significantly more wrinkles than a nylon bag Marie Kondo would throw out.  
It flutters, like the breast of a robin with a snapped wingbone before taking its time to snap upright, like a mummy from a turned over sarcophagus.  
He climbs on top of me, pushing my knees up to my head. My feet and genitals dangling like meat from a string, like bait in a gator trap.

He spits on his dick, to lubricate it a little. His mushroom tip flaring out like a timelapsed video on the discovery channel.  
He tells me in earnest, whispers among my uncle Doofus's thoroughly planned eulogy, he whispers into my ear, the truest, most sexual words you can hear at this point in a sexual encounter with your grandad at your father's funeral. "Are you on protection?"

He wants to know if he can stick his cock in me, raw like chicken that will give you salmonella. I tell him that I'm on the pill and this pleases him like a man that's only been partially pleased - but is wanton of more pleasure to achieve satisfaction.

His throbbing member breeches my escape hatch like a sperm whale into an abandoned and unforeseen above ground/below ground cavern, filled approximately halfway with water.  
Torn flesh, chipped rocks. Both of us are damaged. But it's him that has to suffocate and starve inside of me, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

However, he seems unsurprised, and yet, paradoxically disappointed. He pulls his cock out of me, and it's like farting because you sneezed.  
It tears through your asshole and you wonder whether or not you would have survived that if you were poor.

He leans in towards our genitals like a long neck reaching for a treestar. He sniffsniffs and gags on his own vomit before forcing it back down inside of him and looking at me with eyes like he wants to eat my nipples, or feed my cat to a werewolf.

He scoots closer, atop my inner thighs. Damn near pressing my knees to my armpits. It hurts, but it's sexual.

"What do you smell?" he asks. "On the tip of my cock? What do you smell."

I sniff, then gag, then sniff again. Then gag again. "It's poop, your honour."

"Your poop," he says. "Do you smell your poop?"

"Yes," I say, licking my lips. "I've mostly only eaten sardines and mayonnaise since my father passed away. That is definitely my poop and I smell it."

"Suck it," he says, looking down at me, being more serious about anything than he's ever been in the life he's lived longer than me by at least two generations. "Suck your own poop off this cock that's more wrinkled than your underpants were in middle school."

I suck my poop off his wrinkled cock and it tastes like sardines, and mayonnaise, and poop.

God helped me, I like it.

When my grandfather puts his penis back into my asshole, he strangles me with my mother's pearl necklace. But before I die, and he makes sure it's before I die, he makes a pearl necklace of his own.

If my windpipe weren't crushed, and my very soul not fading from this mortal coil, I would tell my grandfather the truth.

"I love you, Daddy's Daddy," I'd say. "I love you more than Daddy ever loved me."

"Gary, the Clefairy," he coos into my ear as I sputter, choke and cough my way into nothingness. "Gary, the Clefairy. Gary, the Clefairy..."

My relatives would be, hypothetically, and very much are, realistically, extremely confused.

But... to leave some final thoughts on all of this...  
God did this, not me.


	10. Professor Oak (reprise)

"In the folly of my youth," my dead grandad says to my dead brain. "I did'st not pull it out and smell it. I did'st not spit upon mine cock to lubricate it, even just a little bit. To my disdain, to my horror, 'twas my cock snapped off in all my fury to pull it out and smell it. To taste it. But... that was a different life. That was a different now. And this time? I haven't the spit. So you must do your part, boy. Spit on it. Lubricate it. Just a little bit."


	11. Pokeyman with the pokey and the man

I actually can't think of any fanfics I am working on or even want to work on right now so instead I am going to write a fanfic about me writing a fanfic!

AHEM.

Once upon a time there was an incredibly handsome fanfiction writer named Mikey. He was so handsome and everyone loved his fanfics and he certainly wasn't gaining weight at a ridiculous amount so much so that he could feel his "pecs" bounce up and down whenever he ran up a flight of stairs. Anyway! One day Mikey sat down at his computer and began to write one of his extremely popular fanfics when his computer died. It was very sad.

"Oh no!" said Mikey sadly. I am denoting how sad it was by using an adverb in the dialogue tag.

Looking around, he noticed that his laptop was not plugged in, and he knew that his laptop was quite old and desperately needed a new battery, but the Apple Store wouldn't sell him a battery so that he could replace it himself. Something about voiding the warranty, which was very weird to Mikey given that his laptop was quite old! The fanfiction writer, who was extremely handsome and also very rich and had many fans and two different colored eyes and an interesting facial scar from an evil wizard and was the hated twin with an ultra-rare hybrid transformation and also his twin and one of his parents hated him, he went and found his laptop charger and plugged in his computer. Then his computer worked again!

"Wow!" astonished Mikey. "I am so glad that this tension resolved extremely neatly within 300 words!" The end!

A/N: This was my first fanfic about myself writing a fanfic, so I expect nothing but glowing reviews from everyone who's read it and a lot more people who HAVEN'T read it. All flamers will be reported and then I WILL TRACK YOU VIA YOUR IP ADDRESSES AND FIND WHERE YOU LIVE AND THEN STAB YOU WITH A KNIFE IF YOU DON'T FORWARD THIS TO 20 PEOPLE


	12. Eevee

Swiper : Please don't support the Eevee tail trade for furry buttplugs

Map : What if Eevees were getting poached for butt plugs and afterwards the only way Eevee could get the cosmetic effect of a tail again was to buy an Eevee tail butt plug

Swiper : That is like the late stage capitalist dream


	13. Um, Eevee?

_  
May does butt stuff, unlike that bitch Misty

* * *

Ash picks up the plastic container and shows it to May.  
Nervously, he says "wh-what about this one?"

May smiles with her eyes closed. "It's super cute!"

"R-really?" asks Ash.

"Yeah! We should get it!"

"Okay..." Ash says, blushing. "Anything else you wanna get?"

"I think we're set for now," she says, kissing him on the cheek. "Go pay, and meet me outside okay?"

Ash nods, his nose bleeding like a pervert. He catches the sensation of his own fluids leaking from his face and he tries to wipe it away on the back of his glove, but really he just smears it into his glove and his face.  
When he thinks he's good, which he isn't, he walks up to the cashier, still red as the handprints we collectively left on XCABAL'S mom's sweet ass last night.

The cashier starts to giggle when she sees him but stops herself. "Is this your first time here?"  
It's a lady, which is much less threatening his mind than if a gay, or a Mexican worked there or something.  
Still, he's nerviose.

"H-how did you know?"

Her expression is motherly, and her laugher is suppressed. "I have my ways," she says. She examines the pack and whistles. "The Eevee Furtails and Furtail Buttplug Kit. You know this is made with real Eevee parts, yeah? That's why it's so expensive."

"Y-yeah, it says so on the box," Ash says.

"You know, if you have a boner, that booth over there takes quarters."

"I don't have any quarters," Ash blurts out before correcting himself, "I mean boners. Someone's waiting for me outside. A girl, I mean, a woman."

"Sure kid," she says, taking his Japan dollars and making change. Stuffing his real Eevee ears and real Eevee tail attached to a buttplug and a headband, reverse respectively into a black sack and handing it to him. "Maybe next time."

"Maybe!" he says, his nose bleeding again. He'd correct himself, but it's too late. He does it anyway. "Never!"

He runs out of the shop and he hopes she didn't hear either of those things. It was very embarrassing the way he interacted with the clerk at The Dong Song just there, and to be honest, he's gonna think about it on and off for the next month or so, and occasionally for the rest of his life. It will subtly add to the many things his brain uses to torture him and make him hate himself until he dies a very painful and horrific death at the hands of a stranger.

He walks outside and kneels by his Pikachu, who is dehidrated. "Pika pika," the Pikachu says, sweating.

"It's okay, Pikachu. I am sorry I left you out here but you are not old enough to enter the porn store and that's why I left you out here. I'm sorry."

"Pika pika," he says, weakly. His Pikachu, I mean.

Ash unlocks the bike lock keeping the choke chain in place in such a way that kept people from stealing his Pikachu, but unfortunately left his Pikachu very uncomfortable.

He nurses his Pikachu with a water bottle until Pikachu drinks the whole thing. He burps his Pikachu and sets him on his shoulder like a parrot, but instead of a Parrot it's a Pikachu.

They meet May on a bench and she's fanning herself. It's classy or classic, Ash thinks to himself. He can't remember, which is something that he also thinks to himself. This will bother him until he figures it out. He meant classy, for your information.

"Hey May, it's May Day," he says, reaching into his backpack and giving her a Mayflower. It's probably sexual. "May I have a Say?"  
Ash starts to kneel down on one knee like he's kneeling. Like a knight or a man about to propose.

But May stops him and that is the end of his proposal. I mean, uh. Theoretical proposal. It hasn't happened yet and I didn't mean to spoil what he was doing so I'm sorry, please don't think about the fact that he may or may not have been proposing even though he probably was, okay? Okay, thank you.

So anyway, May says "look at that! We should go see a movie!" she says pointing at the theater across the street. "Butt Wars Episode I The Fintum Anus!"

"Phantom," you say, correcting her because she's still a woman and sometimes she gets things wrong. That's okay, Ash thinks to himself. Reddit might not like women getting things wrong, but he was okay with it. That's how he was better than those people, he thought to himself again.

In the movie, For Fit Ambien did a lightsaber on some kind of queer with four arms or something, and it was pretty cool, Ash would guess. He didn't like FartBart Blackface, though. He thought it was weird that he kept saying stuff like "meesa like being slave to white people! Me tell nobody about sloppyglops!"

Ash wasn't sure what any of that meant, but he thought it might be racist.

For Fit Ambien whittled a strange tentacle creature, and SoftlGlop StartClop was behaving like a filthy animal. It was gross, and you probably don't want to know the details but I will give them to you anyway.

"Didn't you know my filth is a weapon!" SoftGlop StartClop said, having sex with a pony. "Didn't you know this would happen!"

"We did not," the police said, as they took him to jail. And then the credits rolled.

Ash leaves the theater feeling empty, but May seemed pleased.

"Did you see that part about how FartFart Chicken made a stinky he slipped in?" she says giggling.

"Yeah," Ash says and thinks about how to handle this small section of his life. "His name was FartBart Blackface, he's the one who steps in the poopy and falls over a bunch of times."

"Gross," May says. "Why would you tell me that?"

"I-it was in the movie! Back me up, Pikachu."

"Pika pika," Pikachu says while thinking about the smell of farts. Why do they smell that way? Pikachu wants to know. "Pika pika." Pikachu says.

"You can't blame it on your Pikachu when you want to get gross."

"That's fair."

"You've got to admit what a disgusting little boy you are, okay? Forever. Or else I'm not going to love you."

"Why not?" Ash asks.

May thinks for a moment. "Because if you aren't a man, you probably don't like women. You probably want to have filthy sex with men. And I don't want to say how disgusting I find that, because it might get my career in trouble and make it seem like I'm homophobic or something, but I do think it's gross and I don't think I want to associate with people who are gross or gay or whatever. Or whatever."

Ash just stares at her in shock for a few minutes. "Did Judd Apatow write this?"

"God, I hope not," May says, collecting herself from bad writing. "Hey, let's go over there!" she says, pointing.

She's pointing to the Grilled Pizza part of a building, which is exactly what it sounds like. Their slogan is "we grill it until it's good!"

It wasn't particularly good. May assumed it was because they had a new griller. Ash assumed it was because the restaurant sucked.  
May fed Ash a peppermint on the way out. It was super cute, and you audibly said 'awh' out loud when you saw it happen in your brain.

They walk down the street holding hands and as a reader I kind of require you to find that cute. I don't care if you ship May and Ash in real life, or MAsh as I like to call it, but please support it while you are reading this fic okay? I worked really hard on this and I want you to find it cute and if you don't please at least pretend it is your ship okay? Like, for the sake of the fic? Okay thanks! You promised by reading to this point so please because of karma read this the best way you can support this fic is by leaving a positive review or theoretically your family could die because of karma. Okay?! Okay!

Anyway, they're super cute together as they walk into the Grilled Pizza. This is actually their second time there, and that's why this part is in present tense and why the last part was in past tense.

This time, both of their pizzas are grilled too much, and burnt throughout.

"I don't like the taste of Ash in my mouth," Ash says, spitting it out on the plate. It was gross and he didn't want to eat anymore. "I don't want to eat this," he says into the public. The public is his girlfriend and his waiter.

His waiter is a curvy rabbit girl like Judy Hopps but hotter and he name is Layla Bunny. Or Lola. I can't remember. But she's hot and she wears a basketball suit, Ash thinks to himself. Like the kind of outfit you play while playing basketball, not a suit that is colored like or shaped like a basketball, or some oddball PC mandation of the two. Ash also thinks to himself.

"My name is Ash, I have a girlfirend, her name is May, she is sitting across from me and I love her, may I have the chicken waffles." He says. He puts the menu down and looks May in the eye. He assumes he has done it perfect.

"And you?"

"I want you to hit him," May says, digging in her back pocket. "I want you to hit him as hard as you can. Then I want you to tell him chicken waffles isn't right. You serve chicken AND waffles, not chicken waffles. Say that and you get Five Japanese Dollars. Don't say that, and I won't even let him tip."

Ash looks up at her with teary eyes and says "please give me my chicken waffles I'll pay you whatever you want."

But the sexy waitress doesn't see any of his pros beating his cons so she belts him in the face. "It's chicken AND waffles you worthless duumbfart! I'll give you a peppermint if you stop being so effeminate and that's all you're gonna get!"

"I won't be no girl!" Ash promises and as promised, the waitress brings her a peppermint.

"Thank you!" Ash says, looking to May for approval. She nods. "For my peppermint!" he continues.

The waitress is confused and she walks away.

"I like breathing," Ash says, really cutely with big green eyes.

"You may keep breathing," May says, smiling back. "You may have another peanut."

Ash claps and closes his eyes and opens his mouth.  
May fires it into his nose, which it bounces off of.  
Ash is very clearly disappointed. He opens his eyes and closes his mouth.

"May I dig the peanut out of this stinky vinyl seat or find it on the floor and still eat it please?" Ash asks.

"No you may not," May says, wiping the tea from the corners of her mouth with a personal napkin, and not a filthy community napkin like a dog, or Ash. "I may want to kiss you later, so you'd better eat another peppermint or I'm going to hit you in the face again."

Ash was both hungry and didn't want to get hit in the face but he was proud of himself for the former so the latter didn't come into question.  
May lets him ride up front because he's a good boy, all the way up to the woods. When she lets him out at the campsite, he hops out eagerly and his Pikachu follows him.

"Pika pika!" the Pikachu says! "Pika pika!"

They all laugh because what the Pikachu said was funny. But May told Ash to get back in the car without his clothes, his backpack or his Pikachu.

"Get back into the car, but before you do, please take off all your clothes, and leave your backpack and your Pikachu."

"Why?" Ash asks, his body language indicating confusion. "I thought we are going camping."

"We are," May says, throwing him the box of authentic Eevee ears attached to a headband and an authentic Eevee tail attached to an authentic silicon buttplug. "You gotta put this on and in you if you want front seat."

Ash didn't see this coming. Or maybe he did, and he was just blocking it out. He takes off his clothing bits one piece of clothing at a time and folds them neatly on the bench. Ash then puts the ears on, his hands shaking, and puts the buttplug inside of himself. His asshole did it when he did it with his own snot and so did he. Quivered, I mean.

He crawled into all fours and hopped up into the seat, staying on all fours but avoiding Butt Disruptance like a good little slut.  
She drived up the road and made sure he hit his head on the windshield a few times. She made a note in her personal pocketbook to charge him for the cracks in his windshield. It was a pretty good scam, but when she let him out in the middle of nowhere, she drove up a mile and got eaten by a bear.

But she had told him to crawl out of the car on all fours and that's what he did. Through the muck and through the grime, and through the poison ivy sometimes. But once he got his body completely covered in that stuff, he crawled up to the road, and dealt with the skin that broke until he got back to the campsite.

He has an orgasm when he seas his clothes neatly stacked by the log bench by the unlit fire. "May! Thank you for carrying out with me my sexual fantasy!"  
Ash says that as he stuffs his clothes under and his hat around the Eevee headband and Eevee buttplug respectively.

He's the perfect, fully clothed Eevee Ash with his knees and elbows bleeding when he stands up, but May is nowhere to be found. She was supposed to pop out of a bush wearing a caveman outfit and wielding a club but she doesn't.

Instead, crickets chirp.

"Pika, pika." the Pikachu says, dehydrated again. "Pika pika."

Ash digs around in his backpack while i'ts still on him before taking it off and setting it by his logseat before digging out the water and key. He feeds the Pikachu water and unlocks his neck from the tightly fashioned choke chain with his bike lock and knee blood.  
Pikachu hops up to the log bench to see. Then hops up to Ash's shoulder to see better. Ash has a boner, he has this whole time.

"Hey!" he says, trying to be sexy and scared, instead of just scared. "Who are you there in the bushes see! I demand you come out and identify yourself immediately!"

He came out of the bushes, but he didn't identify himself immediately. Instead, the smooth action of his gun echoes throughout the forest. As Ash's and Pikachu's eyes widen, another crack echoes throughout the forest, and Pikachu falls off his shoulder like when you set a stuffed animal there and it has no agency, so it just falls to the floor. Ash begins to scream and the cocking of the stranger's weapon repeats and his knee explodes, like a watermelon full of C4 when someone shoots at at it. This person being the stranger.

The Stranger pulls his dick out from what looks like his pants but really it was the shadows. His pants were already off. He ejaculates as he moves forward, and he steps in it, which is gross, and he should feel ashamed of that.

Ash is screaming when the stranger approaches him, putting his hands on his hips. He makes Ash scream louder when he picks up a log which was initially meant for sitting and brings it down on his useless legs again and again until he's sure that moving at all is the most painful thing Ash has ever experienced.

The stranger picks up the dead Pikachu and begins strangling it, throttling it, really. "Who are you?! Why did you make god sad!"

"Please," Ash says. "Please, whatever you're doing, just stop. "You're scaring me."

The stranger seems to be muttering to himself while massaging his cock. Ash tries to escape, but before he knows it lightnig strikes the campfire and the cum his attacker makes sizzles.

Ash Ketchum screams loudly into the night. Can we all agree that no gender is attached to cruelty? Like could you put down your wounded pride for a second and realize that men are just as often if not more often cruel than women? Are you seriously that ashamed of yourself that the rejection you got from women is worse than this in your imagination? Seriously, though, grow up. You're better than this and if you blame women for your problems then I think you're disgusting? Stop it. Seriously. Fucking stop it.

Pikachu is getting his eyes gouged out with an icecream scoop and Ash is suffocating with your feral saliva dripping into his eye. And it's your fault, seriously. For being shitty. Please stop.


	14. Look!

A Chesto tree!

I turn my head to look up from the old woman that my wife and I have been beating to death. She is on the ground underneath us. She has stopped moving a while ago except to twitch, which implies a pulse. And there can be no pulse or else we have not truly beaten someone to death.

"Look," says my wife, pointing at the explosive blue flowers blooming on the tree. "A Chesto tree! Isn't that pretty?"

She is right; it is pretty.

"Wouldn't that look neat in our front yard?" she asks me. "What do you think?"

"Yeah, I agree." There is a bit of blood splattered on my glasses from the old woman, so I take this time to wipe it off and get a better look at the plants.

"Can't you just picture it?" my wife dreamily stares off into the distance as she takes a few more whacks at the old woman with her crowbar. "A Chesto tree shading the porch while we sit on it, watching Hiroshi play with the kids as they weave in and out of the flowered stalks?" Hiroshi being our pet Cyndaquil.

"You have such a vivid imagination," I say, aiming for the old woman's neck. "It's one of the things I love about you!"

"Aw," says my wife as my crowbar plunges into the old woman's collarbone. She has stopped twitching. Using my crowbar, I separate the corpse's head from her body almost entirely.

"Hm, the spinal cord seems to be pretty tough to get through," I say.

"Let's leave it," my wife says. "We have so much else to accomplish on this scavenger hunt anyway."

"Right," I say as I lift up the old woman's body. There's so much blood all over my shirt now, I'll probably have to burn it with her corpse in her house too. "Let's get this body in the kitchen, then I'll get the kerosene, and you can call out Hiroshi to use Flamethrower."


	15. Tooth!

Tooth! What next? After comes the skin, the hair, the cartilage, the long tough strands of sinewy tendon. All the parts inedible are removed with the blade of a freshly sharpened knife. The hide can be tanned and beaten into leather, good for boot making. The fat will be used as sealant, to keep the walls warm in winter. The muscle is the part that is kept for eating, all twenty tonnes of it. The hunt was a fortnight-long process, that involved the better part of the villagers of Windigo. A Rindagong is no easy prey. Timid by nature, and quick to flee, great skill is needed to obtain its flesh.

And so it would be, a feast for the village of Windigo. Amid the celebratory chants, Morpon looked on quietly from aside. She was the village shrikmonker. So she could not let herself be seen, especially at such an hour.

"Woorl-Worph!" a voice called out, which Morpon recognized. She turned around.

"Where have you been, Rakatang?" she whispered. Rakatang swooped down from the fire-tinged air, which still smelled sharp of the Rindagong's blood.

"Woorl-Worph," Rakatang cried out again, shaking its wings. Morpon reached up and caressed the creature's velvety shin.

"Shhh, not so loud."

Then, turning away from Rakatang, Morpon sighed. "You will get to savor the taste of Ringadong someday, I assure you of it. But not yet. Now is not the time."


End file.
